"O God, I could be bounded in a nut shell and count myself
a king of infinite space,
were it not that I have bad dreams."
- Hamlet
Act II scene ii

27 February 2007

Sausages

At my school, I have been a tutor for a group of thirty pupils for the last five years. They are soon to leave school. Ruth is the Head of Year. She had the bright but not wholly original idea of producing a year book for this cohort. She asked me to write a poem for it so I wrote two. Here they are - whipped out on Monday night after the pub quiz. I wonder if Wordsworth did the same:-

Sausages

You arrive at the sausage factoryAt the age of elevenThey put you in form groupsAnd call you year sevenIt’s all just a longConveyor belt rideSo open your mindLet the learning inside.

You leave the sausage factoryAt the end of Year ElevenWhen the last bell ringsYou feel you’re in heaven.It was all just a dreamYou made in your headWere you aliveOr just playing dead?

Mind Mapping

On the day I left schoolI mapped my mindAll the main featuresWere underlinedI thought of howThe years had passed byWishing I hadn’tBeen so shy.The future in bubblesWas shown on the right

My hopes and my dreamsIn felt tip on white.Connections were madeWith arrows and linesCrossing the paperSeveral times.And where would I go toNow school was done?To seek my fortuneAnd have some fun.Find me a loverAnd love me a friendMake sure there are noRegrets in the end.

9 comments:

I heard that in Sheffield they do actually make sausages from the under achieving children in order to keep the average exam grades up and get a bit of extra income from sales on the education authority's farmers' market stall, but I bet you're going to deny it aren't you YP...

JENNYTA - Whaddya mean? You saying I ain't no poet or sumfink?ALKELDA - What's rude about sausages? I am bemused. And Blackadder was a comedy show invented by Ben Elton! It was not REAL History! Honestly, you American ladies - you're so gullible!

If I had been presented with poems like that when I left school I may have made the decision not to waste the next 15 years in the company of cigarettes, whisky and wild, wild women. Mind you, remembering the obnoxious-I-know-everything, hairy arsehole I was: probably not.

If it makes at least ONE school-leaver stop and think, then give yourself a pat on the back Mr Pudding.

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